“Gramp never goes out,” Brady said for the hundredth time. “Something must have happened.”
Abra chewed her nail. “It’s hard for me to help find him when I’ve hardly ever seen him. I need a description.”
“What? He looks… old! How many other old people do you think are going to be wandering around?”
Brady tried to remember if Gramp had been dressed when he’d left for the dog show. “He might be wearing pajamas with wild horses on them. And slippers that look like bear paws.”
Abra’s eyes widened. “Maybe you could get something that belongs to him from the house. We could give it to Cool It to smell, and he could track him down.”
“Great idea!” Brady shot into the house and grabbed a boot out of the hall cupboard. He waved it in front of Cool It’s nose. Cool It flapped his tail. He pricked his ears.
“Find Gramp!” shouted Abra.
Cool It charged around the block with Abra and Brady pounding at his heels. They ended up back at Gramp’s gate. Cool It wagged his tail and collapsed panting on his tummy.
Brady hopped on one foot. The cowboy boots had given him a blister. “This is terrible!”
“I could ask Mom to help,” said Abra doubtfully.
“No!” said Brady quickly. He had a terrifying vision of Sue and Julia’s mother scouring the neighborhood, beating back bushes with their brooms. Gramp would hate that.
Brady had a sudden idea.
He hobbled through the long grass behind the house to the garage. The two wide doors at the back hung open. Brady stared into the empty garage.
“Desert Racer is gone!” he shouted.
He and Abra trudged back to the front of the house. They sat with slumped shoulders on the porch steps. Brady’s head ached. Desert Racer probably hadn’t been out of the garage for years. The engine could overheat. It could run out of gas. Its tires could explode. Gramp could be in big trouble. Brady groaned. He leaned his head against the side of the house and shut his eyes.
Suddenly he heard a loud roar and a squeal of tires. Brady’s eyes popped open. Desert Racer lurched to a stop in front of the house. The yellow lightning bolts gleamed in the sun, and the flames of fire licking the hood looked alive. Gramp clutched the steering wheel, his black cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. Grit stood up in the back and barked wildly.
“Yee-haw!” yelled Gramp. He turned and grinned gleefully at Brady. “That was the test drive! Hurry and get in! We don’t have all day!”
Brady and Abra scrambled onto the seat beside Gramp. Gramp stepped on the accelerator and the truck shot forward.
“Where are we going?” yelled Brady over the roar of the engine.
“Don’t disturb me!” Gramp hollered back. “I’m concentratin’ on my drivin’!”
Brady leaned his head back. The air blew through the open windshield against his hot cheeks. He wished the kids from school could see him now. He grinned at Abra and she grinned back.
They drove past Reptile Rage and the grocery store and the library and onto the main road out of town. In a few minutes the houses were replaced by fields and scattered farms.
Gramp sucked in big breaths of air. He chuckled happily. Then he slowed down and stopped at the side of the road beside a stretch of barbed wire fence. “Get the gate, Brady,” he said.
Brady hopped out of the truck and struggled with the floppy gate. Gramp drove slowly into the bumpy field. Brady shut the gate carefully and leaped back in beside Abra. He looked worriedly at the farmhouse in the distance. “Gramp, do you know these people?”
“Hooo-eee!” shouted Gramp.
Desert Racer shot across the field. It bounced over ruts and mounds and lunged through dips. For a second Brady could see nothing but bright blue sky and then golden grass. He gripped the edge of the seat. Grit barked excitedly behind them.
“Hang on, Grit!” yelled Gramp as Desert Racer leaped over a rut. “Yee-haw! We’re getting air!”
“Yee-haw!” Brady shouted back. He glanced over his shoulder. Grit’s ears were sticking straight out at the sides and his mouth was open in a wide doggy grin. “Grit loves this!” he said.
“’Course he does!” Gramp grunted as the truck bounced in the air. “I put an anti-skid mat back there for him!”
Brady laughed out loud.
Desert Racer was better, way better than he’d ever imagined.
The farmhouse was getting closer and closer. For a terrible minute Brady thought Gramp was going to drive right into the side. But Gramp stepped hard on the brake, and Desert Racer bounced to a stop in the front yard.
Brady’s head whirled as he waited for the dust to settle. He hoped the farmer wouldn’t be angry. He climbed out of the truck. His legs felt wobbly and the ground was spinning.
A woman wearing an apron stood in the doorway of the farmhouse. She was smiling. A mass of furry black-and-white bodies squeezed past her legs and tumbled into the yard.
“Puppies!” said Abra.
Brady’s heart gave a sharp jump. He couldn’t stop staring at the puppies, which was dumb because he didn’t even like dogs.
He stepped forward. One of the puppies pounced on a stick and wrestled it to the ground. Then he saw Brady and wiggled towards him, sniffing curiously. He had black-and-white fur and a rusty patch between his ears like Grit. He grabbed Brady’s shoelace and tugged, growling deep in his throat.
“They’re Grit’s nieces and nephews,” said Gramp.
Brady stooped down and picked up the puppy. It felt warm and surprisingly heavy in his arms.
“Your mom said you can have one.” Gramp scratched Grit’s ears busily and didn’t look at Brady.
“No thanks,” said Brady quickly. “I don’t like dogs.”
“Well, if you did want one, you know how to pick ’em,” said Gramp. “That one you got there has all the makings of a Frisbee-catching champion.”
“It does?” Brady made his voice sound casual.
Gramp squinted at the puppy. “Those long legs are a dead giveaway.”
Brady tried to examine the wiggling ball of puppy in his arms. It looked like all fat body and fur to him. And sparkling brown eyes.
Brady sucked in his breath. His heart was thumping so hard he was sure Gramp could hear it.
Which was dumb because he didn’t even like dogs.
“Just say I wanted this dog — would you help me train him?” said Brady. “I mean, to catch Frisbees and stuff?”
“Of course I would. But a dog needs a name first. A real good name. You got to take your time when you pick a name.”
Brady nodded. His throat felt too thick to speak. But he didn’t need to take his time. He knew already. He laughed as a warm pink tongue swiped his hand. Inside his head he whispered his puppy’s name softly.
Jupiter.